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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685343">The end is near</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dostres/pseuds/dostres'>dostres</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Class Differences, Dual Timeline, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dostres/pseuds/dostres</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Closure is a fucking bitch and time doesn't heal shit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A million loose threads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I swear I tried to be a responsible writer, but I lost all inspiration for my other story and instead started to feverishly write this one. I'm sorry!!!<br/>This is going to be written as a kind of past/present situation, I hope it isn't too confusing! The installments that belong to the past, such as this one, are going to be kind of chaotic in an attempt to reflect the main character's state of mind during the time.<br/>English isn't my first language, so CAUTION. No grammar corrector is good enough to control my sloppiness.<br/>Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a chain of factors that led to this outcome, as domino pieces falling one by one until they reached the inescapable end.  </p><p>He would have been in time to Nate's concert if the car hadn’t stopped in the middle of nowhere as he drove to his private high school, located in the countryside, too fancy to operate in the city. The car wouldn't have died if he wasn't so goddamn broke. And he wouldn’t have been that broke if his parents had better, more stable occupations instead of needing to work two jobs each to make ends meet. His parents would have better jobs if their own hadn’t worked even harder, if they hadn't been born and raised in the shoddiest part of the city, where money was tight and opportunities were even slimmer. </p><p>There were a lot of weird things to think as you faced the inevitable realization that you were about to get involved in sexual intercourse, but reflecting on structural inequality was probably the weirdest. His train of thought tended to expand, to get lost like a million loose threads, in all directions. In all honesty, Frank having sex with Nate was probably the furthest from what every ancestor in his genealogical tree pictured for their descendants.</p><p>The car died and his phone didn’t work, so he had to wait until someone stopped and called a mechanic for him. It took forever because people were assholes, pretending they didn’t see him trying to attract their attention. The only one who did was an old lady who offered to drive him but he refused because he couldn’t just leave the car. It might have been a piece of shit, but it was his family’s piece of shit. He would get in enough trouble as it was.  </p><p>So he asked for her phone instead and called his dad who was working, so Frank knew he would bust his balls about it once he was home, if he ever made it back. It took forever because his father had to wait until his break to call, to avoid getting in trouble with his manager. And then, it took forever because every mechanic in the city was fucking useless. </p><p>When he finally arrived, a girl was playing the violin on the stage and Nate was nowhere to be seen. He found him in his dorm room, surrounded by an impressive amount of flower bouquets and gifts. </p><p>If Frank hadn’t known him better, he would feel bad about arriving not only late but also empty-handed. He knew Nate hated those big displays of opulence, though, that his presence was enough. He didn’t need to explain anything, all it took was mentioning his shitty car to make Nate laugh and tell him it was okay. </p><p>“Are those <em> roses</em>?” Frank asked, faking surprise since he had accompanied Nate’s mother to pick them. </p><p>“You know they are,” Nate rolled his eyes. “Eighteen of them.”</p><p>He kept rubbing his fingers while they talked, surely hurting like hell after many hours of practice. Nate with his ample smile, the only thing that managed to ease Frank's anxieties; who never complained and always put up with his bullshit. </p><p>“All for dear Nathaniel,” Frank said mockingly and burst out laughing at Nate’s face. Nate with his pretty eyes and his killer shoulders. </p><p>It was only right that Frank kissed him. When he got on his knees and his hands were on Nate’s pants almost on their own accord, that was just the natural progression to everything that had been going on between them for years.</p><p>The art of blowjobs was one that Frank mastered with certain ease due to a bunch of frankly forgettable encounters and some experiences he wished he could forget. It was different this time because he wasn’t in a utility room or a dirty bathroom, focused on getting off quickly to avoid being caught. It was different because he was in love with Nate and had been for a long time. </p><p>This, too, was the resolution of several occurrences intertwined that inevitably lead to it.</p><p>The day Frank learned about social inequity was also the day he visited the Richards' house for the first time when he was twelve. Nate gave him a tour around his house while Frank tried to calculate how long it would take to show him his own. </p><p>Sometime before, his teacher had told him he was a "ball of never-ending energy" and that his "attention was all over the place", that "his mouth moved faster than the gears of his brain", which were just nice ways of saying he was a pain in the ass. His father wasn't as soft in his choice of words, so Frank knew already. Still, he found certain fondness in the way his mouth curved whenever he called him “annoying little shit”. </p><p>Mrs. Deslauriers visited his parents and urged them to take him to a professional, said something about learning disabilities, referenced a few names. Frank listened behind the door as his mother answered they couldn’t afford it. Since money was tight, Frank was aided to make an effort. And he did, truly. </p><p>He knew Nate completely by chance. One of those things that, looking in hindsight, seemed almost impossible, too good to be true. </p><p>His parents’ impossibility to pay for professional help led him to the closest thing they could offer to a boy with a wandering mind and too much time alone during the afternoons, which was a ride to the nearest library on their way to work. Nate’s mom was volunteering in it and Nate accompanied her every day because he wasn’t used to being alone. Frank didn’t know that when he first met him, of course, Nate told him a while later, that loneliness was extremely harsh for someone who had grown up with a group of twenty kids, from morning until night, every day.</p><p>One of those afternoons, after Frank complained because all the Harry Potter’s volumes had already been borrowed, Nate approached him and told him he owned them and he could let him borrow them if he wanted. Frank instantly accepted because his grandma taught him to be grateful, not before warning him that reading took him a while, that he wasn’t very good at it. The next day, Nate arrived and looked around until he found him while holding three books in each hand. </p><p>When Nate’s mom asked Frank the reason he was so interested in the series, he confessed that he had seen one of the movies on TV a few days earlier and that he imagined Harry Potter were the best books in the world. Nate told him he respectfully disagreed, and he said it like that, “I respectfully disagree”, which Frank still remembered because he thought Nate spoke funny. He soon realized he tended to overuse adverbs, a speech pattern he still maintained, so Nate was always “terribly sorry” and “tremendously sad” or “delightfully happy.” </p><p>The day he visited Nate’s house, Gemma arrived in a car that seemed straight out of a TV commercial and took him to a part of the city he’d never seen before. Every house had high ceilings and lots of windows, Frank thought that was what fairytales meant when mentioning glass castles. The gardens were perfectly trimmed and there was a big pool in every single one of them.  </p><p>On Wednesday, when his mom came to pick him up and Gemma asked for permission so he could hang in their house on Saturday, she paled. She looked pointedly at Frank, but when she answered affirmatively her voice adopted a soft tone he wasn’t used to hearing. Nate’s mom asked for her phone number and when his mom said they didn’t have one, she went for their direction and assured her they would pick Frank up. </p><p>His mom didn’t speak much, she was more of a practical displays of love person, such as having his favorite shirt clean at all times or always preparing his favorite dessert for the weekends, but on the ride home, she explained that the people who invited him had a lot of money, that she would have to take out the new clothes he got for Christmas so he could wear them, although she doubted they would dare to come to their neighborhood. </p><p>Nate didn’t look like his parents. His skin didn’t match the almost translucent of his father’s and his brown eyes didn’t match the blue of theirs, his dark hair had nothing in common with his mother's light tone. </p><p>Years later, his mother told him Nate was adopted. Their city was tiny enough that those things were virtually public, so his mom, despite never meeting them in person until he did, had heard about their story. Everyone knew his parents had tried everything, spent a lot of money on every treatment available until they decided to adopt. Many years had passed when they finally could bring Nate home, and they were older when it became possible. That was what caught his attention when Frank first met them, how Gemma appeared more a grandmother than a mom, and looked so different from his own, who gave birth to him at twenty-three. </p><p>Up until that moment, Frank had made some inferences he never brought up because it wasn’t his place to ask. He was a curious kid but mostly kept to himself because if he had learned one thing during his short life was that, sometimes, the truth hurt people.  </p><p>He knew about infidelity. His neighbors had some pretty harsh opinions on the topic, which they discussed at a very loud volume all the time, so he learned about it pretty early on.  </p><p>He knew about kids who were raised by their grandparents as well, that was his immediate conclusion, never taking adoption into account. It could have been because where he lived there were so many unwanted children, who couldn't be cared for, kids who spent their childhood from one place to another, friends he made for about a month, and then suddenly learned they had been sent with another relative the next. The idea of someone not being able to conceive their own and being in need to seek other’s children was a concept new to him. </p><p>To be quite honest, at that moment it didn’t matter how Nate ended up there, all that Frank cared about was that he was his friend. </p><p>The day Frank discovered he was in love with Nate was also the day he dropped by his house unannounced after Frank spent the entirety of the week in bed because the drugstore bought medicine couldn’t do anything to placate his cold. </p><p>He felt terrible and was sure he looked even worse, but Nate invited himself in and plopped down on Frank's ratty couch, saying he didn’t care if he got sick too. Frank was fifteen when he first felt there couldn't possibly be something better than being around Nate.</p><p>It was late, almost four when Nate told him he was glad he wasn’t there to see him perform because he fucked up a note. That was how he said it, “I fucked up a note,” and that was how Frank realized how frustrated he felt because Nate hated foul language and directed him a pointed look whenever he ventured in a delightful chain of insults about anything and everything. If he swore it meant he was truly bothered. “I wouldn’t have noticed anyway,” admitted Frank because it was true. He didn’t know the first thing about music, he had an awful ear. It wasn’t enough to mitigate Nate’s disappointment, he was going to beat himself over it forever and beyond, but at least it erased the hurt from his eyes and made him smile a little before he exhaled with contentment and hid his face in Frank’s neck.</p><p>“I’m so happy I told my parents to go home,” he said, lips brushing lightly against sensitive skin.   </p><p>“You knew this would happen?”</p><p>“I wished it would,” Nate answered softly. “Did you?”</p><p>Frank wasn't good with words, he tripped with them, didn't know how to weave them together in the proper way, especially when it came to Nate and how he felt about him. Instead, he decided to kiss him while hoping Nate would understand how much Frank had waited for this moment. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. At sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They didn’t end things on a good note, that's an understatement.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Putting on clown make up*<br/>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank gets a call on Friday, way out of his working schedule, when he’s finally enjoying some alone time on his couch, trying to tune out the voices of all the passengers he drove during the week. The day has been particularly bad, closing the evening with a conspiracy guy, then a screaming woman with her three screaming children. His head hurts so he puts on some music and stares at the wall. </p><p>He feels a weird fascination with his walls, everything they keep and hide down endless coats of new colors. When he arrived, they were a sickly yellow. A week later, light blue surrounded him. He now feels at sea without moving from his living room. </p><p>His apartment is well into its twentieth year of existence and it shows. There are little dents and hardly concealed spots protruding under the paint, places where the brush didn’t quite reach. The owner comes by every fifth of the month; an old, quiet lady. Frank thinks she would understand if he ever had issues to pay. He’s grateful he doesn’t, makes enough to afford his rent and groceries. </p><p>It’s a good life. Sarah might tell him, actually tells him, that spending a Friday night alone sitting on his couch while staring at the wall says otherwise. He respectfully disagrees. She shouldn’t judge considering she’s an antisocial teenager who spends the majority of her free time in front of her phone. At least, since he has to deal with people every day for a living, he has a valid excuse for seeking out every calm moment whenever it's possible. </p><p>Frank doesn’t have many friends. There are a few guys from his job, whom he’s grown close to more by scheduling convenience than actual liking. Three old classmates he meets once a month unless the compromise can be avoided. It’s a direct consequence of devoting his youth to Nate, their friendship, and what briefly came after, but Frank doesn’t resent it; wouldn’t change any of it except maybe Nate leaving like that. Some days, when he's dwelling hard into self-pity, he shoves the specific circumstances that made it so devastating and hates the sole idea of Nate leaving. It's not a healthy thought, so he brushes it off, buries it deep inside him where he can't reach.</p><p>He considers ignoring the call, picks up when he sees the name written across the screen. He could never bring himself to erase Gemma’s number from his phone. Sometimes, she requires his services and calls him with the pretense of needing a ride to someplace her driver won’t be able to get her, a silly excuse just to see him. He’s thought about telling her it isn’t necessary to lie, that he likes to see her as well, but the idea of fooling him makes her feel so satisfied that he lets it slide.  </p><p>Gemma’s voice sounds different this time, worried. There’s no trace of the professionalism she pretends that marks their usual interactions, the barely hidden fondness in her voice when she asks him to take her to a new library or an old friend’s house. This time, she takes a while to say what she means to say, carefully enunciating every word.   </p><p>After nine years of avoidance, he hears Nate’s name out loud again along with “coming back”, “Monday” and “would you wait for him.” Frank wants to point out they have a driver who could perfectly do that, but he knows Gemma will tell him <em>‘he truly wants to see you’</em> or something along the lines because that’s what she always suggests in that particular way of implying things without actually saying them of hers. He doesn’t want to hear it, not now.</p><p>In all the time they've been seeing each other, Gemma has tiptoed around the topic, not quite explicitly, seeming afraid of saying the wrong thing and driving Frank away. Her fear hadn't been unfounded, because even after such a long period, he felt like ending the phonecall and changing his number at the prospect of talking about Nate.</p><p>Frank excuses himself and stupidly nods when Gemma asks him to consider it, his voice trembling as he swears he’ll think about it. </p><p>They didn’t end things on a good note, that's an understatement. In a way, they didn’t exactly end things, unless learning your best friend and recently turned boyfriend has left to a foreign country out of the blue could be considered some kind of weird closure. </p><p>The worst thing about it is that Frank would’ve understood, really, he always knew Nate’s dad had big plans for him. What he couldn’t accept was how Nate hid them and planned a whole new life for himself while Frank foolishly thought they had all the time in the world together. The way he didn’t give him time to prepare because one day they were watching a bad movie together and the next Nate didn’t answer his texts because he was flying to another continent.  </p><p>Frank hates how much of a soap opera plot it sounds, a period filled with drama in his otherwise uneventful life. Sarah thinks he hasn’t gone through the mourning process yet and that he’ll always feel sorry for himself unless he does. It scares him, how much a sixteen-year-old seems to know about that sort of thing when a grown man like him feels completely helpless.</p><p>Until now, and although she doesn’t say a word about it, his mother looks at him with pity. The emotion feels so out of place to the usual demeanor of the woman who raised him that he recoils every time her eyes meet with his. </p><p>His father does talk about it, tells him he shouldn’t have expected anything else, insists he had seen it coming. The thing is Frank still remembers the way his arms felt around him while he held him as he cried the day he learned about Nate’s departure. He’s almost sure he heard his dad crying too, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. </p><p>He spends an awful weekend, stuck on his couch and desperately trying to forget, throwing away all the progress he’s made so far in regards to avoiding thinking about Nate and what they once shared. His therapist would tell him repressing his pain isn’t considered progress, but it does help him keep going, so he begs to differ.  </p><p>When Monday morning arrives, with the promise of a sunny and warm day ahead, the decision has already been made after a slow, sleepless night.</p><p>The ride to the airport feels like he's walking right into a trap, all of his own accord. He's been here before, of course, but always stays outside, waiting for the passengers to come to him. People come and go, rushing for a flight that’s leaving or laughing together, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. As he enters, he doesn't have much time to look around the wide variety of stores or to lose himself in the crowd because Nate is already there. </p><p>He looks bad. Nate had never been a buff guy, but the weight loss seems extreme due to his tall frame; he’s all cheekbones and bony elbows as he brings a cigarette to his lips to take a drag. That’s a new development. Frank doesn’t know if things are different abroad, if the time he’s spent away somehow made him forget it’s in bad taste to smoke in closed areas or if Nate is simply ignoring the signs that forbid it, placed all around, in plain sight. A few other passengers are looking terribly mad at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice at all. Maybe that’s just his thing, overlooking people and their obvious, unmistakable feelings that are close to him.  </p><p>Nate doesn’t see him at first because his attention is directed at his phone, holding it to his ear while wildly gesticulating with the hand that grabs the cigarette. He looks miserable, and while Frank imagines it’s a normal thing after traveling for that many hours, it feels like there’s something else, something to do with that call he’s doing. Frank wonders if he’s talking to Gemma, telling her he’s chickening out and doesn’t actually want to see him; if he’s asking her to let him know, as he did when he first left.     </p><p>Frank doesn’t know what could have possibly changed, for Nate to want to see him all of a sudden because it isn’t the first time Nate has come visiting in the past nine years. He’s seen some pictures, unable to stop himself from scrolling through his social media on some nights when the longing became unbearable. His almost yearly posts boil down to two categories: Nate with his parents and Nate in some work shit. In all of them, he’s wearing some sort of formal clothing as if he doesn’t quite separate his work life from his daily life and he looks as uncomfortable in both environments. </p><p>Frank is wondering if he should turn around and leave while he’s unnoticed when Nate meets his eyes. His whole body stiffens as he approaches him.  </p><p>As he gets closer, Nate doesn’t appear to know how to proceed so he settles for a nod, like he knew Frank would literally flee if he dared to touch him. He could be right. Frank is feeling so overwhelmed by his presence that he doesn't quite know what his reaction would be; but because he isn’t interested in finding out and embarrassing himself in front of a shitload of people, he takes a few steps back. </p><p>Up close, Nate looks even worse, his face pale and his dark circles painfully pronounced. If Frank didn’t feel so conflicted about him leaving and completely disregarding his feelings, then pretending Frank didn’t exist for years, he would allow himself to worry. </p><p>“Norway treated you well, I see,” Frank says instead. Nate lets out a humorless laugh, a bitter sound that’s nothing like him, doesn’t say anything else. </p><p>Frank tells himself he shouldn’t compare the boy he knew in his youth to the man who’s standing in front of him now, since so much has passed that he might as well be a completely different person. They may have spent so much time together once, but every little detail Frank had stored in his head about Nate was no longer a basis for who he currently is.   </p><p>Nate doesn’t speak but he stares. A little guarded while they’re in the airport, openly once they’re inside the car. He doesn’t accept Frank’s help, so he carries his suitcase and then puts it in the back seat where he also positions himself. </p><p>Frank doesn’t have to check the rear-view mirror to know he’s looking at him because he <em>feels</em> it. His neck warms due to the intensity of Nate’s scrutiny, the color uncontrollably spreading over his whole body. </p><p>They have a long due conversation and Frank knows he should seize this very moment because with Nate he isn’t sure what to expect next, he probably won't see him until another shit-on of years has passed. The adult thing would be to talk about what happened, to acknowledge the pain Nate caused him, to ask him what made him suddenly break his silent treatment. He has never felt more like a child, though, lost and unsure of what to do. </p><p>It’s not like he’d rehearsed what he would say in case they met each other again. To cope with it, he took for granted that they would never be in this kind of situation. To keep going he kept attempting to shove all the memories and hurt he felt basically most of the time.      </p><p>“You cut your hair,” Nate points out. The stupidity of the statement tells Frank he’s as lost for words as himself. </p><p>“Well, yeah. I wasn’t planning on going around looking like goddamn Tarzan my whole life,” he answers, enjoying the way Nate winces at his swearing.  </p><p>“You looked good. And– I think you look well now, too,” Nate admits quietly, with none of the sarcasm that filled Frank’s comment before. </p><p>“Of course you fucking do, Nate,” Frank sneers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It might not have been an intergalactic journey, but Nate did choose to ignore his father’s wishes and demands only to see him, and since Frank knew how much he did to please his father, it sure felt like it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Them boys with their broken arms and their broken hearts.<br/>Thanks for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Often, as he got sick of the nearly plastic texture of fries, seriously considering drenching his hands in bleach to get rid of the disgusting hamburgers' grease imprinted on his hands, he thought about his past. Whenever Frank thought about his life, he did it in phases. He was sure many did the same. While some people identified each period with the person they were in love with or by the location they had lived at the moment, he did it with his jobs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was a child, no older than six years old, his mother used to take him to hers. It wouldn’t be correct to consider it his first job, since he was more of a nuisance than anything, but it was his first contact with long hours, underpaid workers, and terrible customers. He still remembered how sore his mom's feet would get after having to stand during the entirety of her shift, the effort it took to walk at the end of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dragged her feet back home for years without a single complaint until she finally got promoted. She used to joke that by the time she retired, management still wouldn't have heard her requests about providing chairs to the cashiers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time a man insulted his mom, with a word Frank had never heard before but soon become immensely accustomed to, he cried. Despite not knowing the meaning, he didn’t like the way her mother’s eyes got misty, how her shoulders dropped as if the curse had a physical aspect to it as if there was something else in the sound that weighed her down, made her even smaller. By the tenth time it happened, both of them had hardened. Frank preferred that to the alternatives, resignation, or defeat. He firmly believed that remaining unwavering in front of bigotry was a sign of courage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was thirteen, Frank had attempted to work as a paperboy. He didn’t last much because he kept getting distracted, making too many stops to collect cool rocks and just anything that caught his attention. It didn’t take long until people started complaining about not getting their newspapers on time. Frank didn’t understand the hurry, he hated everything he saw in the pages. Adults needed a daily dose of bleakness to accompany their coffee and toast, he supposed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At sixteen, he started working at a car repair shop. It was close to his house and a friend of his dad was the owner. He let him work there more as a favor than out of necessity because his parents were worried he would pursue some questionable path when it became clear he wasn’t interested in a university degree. His family wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway, and he was painfully average, not good enough at anything to gain a scholarship.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day he was fired was also the day Nate sneaked out to hang with him and tripped with a mechanical jack, breaking his arm in the fall. It wasn't the first time he did it, he escaped all the tutoring and extracurricular activities he could to spend time with Frank. The owner had no issue with the condition that Nate didn’t become a distraction. Until that day, when his shenanigans were inevitably discovered, Nate kept ditching his expensive French teacher, debate meetings, and rugby practice; all in the name of hanging with Frank in his shitty workplace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He always let him know when he would be coming around and when it was impossible to free himself from his previous compromises, when it was too risky to leave his business program early or excusing himself from a study session with his father’s colleagues’ offsprings. It was funny how whenever Nate told him he couldn’t make it, Frank still waited for him and every time he already knew he would be dropping by, Frank was taken aback to see him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nate didn’t belong in a place like that, it was pretty clear. From his manners to his clothes, his whole presence was a dissonant note in the chaos that surrounded him. The dirty hands and even dirtier words Frank’s coworkers uttered at all times, the naked women that plastered the walls around them, the ever-present trashy music that made Frank’s head hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the middle of those surroundings, Nate appeared to have come from another planet. And yet, he came to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It might not have been an intergalactic journey, but Nate </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>choose to ignore his father’s wishes and demands only to see him, and since Frank knew how much he did to please his father, it sure felt like it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank tried so hard not to read too much into it, but he was a teenager in love. What else could have he done? Seeing Nate coming through the door gave him yet another reason to think about him at every waking moment. When he realized he shouldn't have even entertained the thought, it had been too late.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guys had grown attached to Nate in no time, he had that effect on everyone. They might have glanced at him doubtfully the first time he went, but soon enough they started to like him more than they liked Frank. John, the owner, had even lent him a uniform so he wouldn’t raise any suspicion by staining his outfit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day Nate broke his arm and Frank was told to not go back the next day, they had almost kissed. He can acknowledge it now, older and bitter, but it took him the longest time to even admit it to himself, what could have happened if his coworker Shawn hadn’t entered and Nate hadn’t tripped with the mechanical jack while quickly attempting to separate himself from where he was standing, too close into Frank’s space to play it off as nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Shawn suspected anything, he never said, too busy hurrying over Nate and screaming horrified at the sound his bone made when his body impacted into the floor. It had been such a stupid accident, Frank was sure he’d had worse ones playing rugby. Still, he almost fainted when he saw the unnatural position of Nate's limb, poking in the entirely wrong direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t see each other for a while after that. Frank, knowing what he knew now, let himself marvel at the thought of this kind of rehearsal Nate’s father had inadvertently organized, some sort of sneak peek of what would come a few years later. It sucked when he was sixteen and it sucked in his twenties, with the difference that then he was mad only at Nate’s dad, and nowadays most of his resentment was directed at Nate himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If years before someone would have told Frank he would hold so much rage towards Nate, he probably wouldn't have believed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank never read the books Nate gave him, he kept them in his bedside table for months, rehearsing a bunch of excuses in case Nate scolded him for keeping them so long, for not being able to tell him if he enjoyed them or not. He never did, though, and even when it took Frank a year to give them back, he accepted them without a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to read them, but he found books</span>
  <em>
    <span> so </span>
  </em>
  <span>boring. He didn’t understand how something so fascinating on a screen, so intriguing when Nate summarized them, could be so tedious when put into words he had to read on his own. Nate kept bringing him books, Gemma did as well, and Frank attempted to read some while couldn’t even be bothered to lift the cover of others. No matter their lengths or the authors’ notoriety, he couldn’t bring himself to finish any of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he mopped the floors, feeling miserable after what felt like an endless day of flipping burgers and allowing customers to belittle him in every imaginable way, he realized how often Nate wandered into his mind. Some days, it worked as some kind of proof of his strength, a way of telling himself 'you have dealt with worse things than a terrible job that doesn't pay nearly enough for what you have to deal with.' Others, it was precisely the contrary, he was invaded by the thought that along with Nate he had lost the best thing he ever had and that without him Frank would be hardly living forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He preferred to think about his life based on his work because the alternative was too painful. His life before Nate, his life with Nate, his life without him. It wasn’t something Frank wanted to revisit often. And yet, he always ended up discovering that no matter the focus he chose, Nate was always a constant when he remembered his past. Frank would have to be born again, all his memories scrapped into a big nothing, a white canvas or a black void, to be freed from Nate and the permanent marks he left in him, his stubborn presence that never left him alone, following him everywhere he went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a way, it felt as if he had never left, as if he was still there like the pain Frank knew Nate felt every time it rained, right where his arm had broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he wondered what Nate thought about when he thought about his own life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A distant point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There’s nothing normal about them. Not the way Nate seems intent on pretending nothing happened, not the dull ache Frank feels every time their eyes meet. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>By reading my writing, you might get the impression that I don't understand how human relations work. It's true.<br/>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank is good at what he does. The passengers might not outright say it because people tend to take for granted those who work for them, but by the time their rides, most of them leave with a satisfied smile or ask for his name so they can request him again specifically. Of course, there are weirdos and shitheads, people who manage to make his head hurt in the record time of a fifteen minutes drive. Luckily, they’re not the majority.</p><p>He’s been told he’s liked because he’s quiet which supposedly isn’t a usual characteristic in taxi drivers. It’s understandable since people are too caught up in their own lives to care about the opinion of some guy they’ll most likely see only once and for a quick drive to the supermarket or the airport.  </p><p>The truth is most people don’t think very highly about those who make a living driving from one place to another. Frank has made peace with it and is perfectly content with his job. It's not he has much to say, anyways. </p><p>He fakes attentiveness towards the chatty ones and mutters sounds of acknowledgment to those who prefer the illusion of exchange, too busy listening to the sound of their voices to care about who hears them. Frank enjoys driving quiet passengers the most, the ones who stare out of the window from start to finish, who keep their words at the bare minimum according to good manners.      </p><p>Nate doesn’t belong to the latter since he keeps trying to start a conversation, as if he’s oblivious to Frank's reluctance or immune to his multiple attempts to abort them. At first, Frank ignores him and keeps his eyes stuck on the road ahead. By the time Nate dares to ask about his sister with a sickening ring of fondness in his voice, he straight up tells him to fuck off.      </p><p>They’ve been quiet for a while and Frank is already internally chanting victory when Nate speaks again. He may be a wimp when it comes to his father, constantly abiding by his every word, but he isn’t when it comes to Frank. </p><p>Nate has always been stubborn when it comes to what he wants if Frank is the one on the receiving end; and for the longest time, Frank found it endearing. Important. As if being the only person that Nate truly felt comfortable enough to stomp his feet down and voice his demands was proof of the strength of their bond. Clearly, Frank has never been very smart when it came to emotions.</p><p>Now, after many years, Frank couldn’t feel further from what he once felt at Nate’s insistence. He needs to find a way to shut him up, one that preferably doesn’t involve vehicular manslaughter.   </p><p>“How's the job?” Nate asks casually, like the last minutes of the ride hadn’t happened. As if he had forgotten about the last <em>nine</em> years or had convinced himself that they are two normal friends catching up after a few months of not seeing each other. </p><p>There’s nothing normal about them. Not the way Nate seems intent on pretending nothing happened, not the dull ache Frank feels every time their eyes meet. </p><p>“Not as stressful as whatever you've been doing, judging by your— general appearance,” Frank says. Never in a million years, he would have thought he could be capable of being this rude to him, yet Nate seems unfazed.</p><p>Before he would have thought Nate was acting that way to hide how he felt, that his impassiveness was a mask to conceal his emotions. When they were younger, the blanker his expression got, the more deeply he was suffering. It doesn't really matter now.</p><p>“When did—” </p><p>“Look, Nate, I know you don’t give a fuck about me. You made that pretty clear,” Frank cuts him off, feeling his blood burn. “You don't have to do this, you know? No need for inane questions.”</p><p>Nate remains silent after that, vacantly looking out the window. For the rest of the drive, Frank keeps directing furtive glances at him through the rearview mirror. He wonders if he had gotten everything wrong, if their relationship had always been like that: Frank looking at Nate while his attention was elsewhere, at a distant point, far from him. </p><p>The last time they had been together, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world. To be able to spend time with Nate, losing endless hours with him, felt like a miracle in disguise. It’s the weirdest thing, to see a face that used to make you so happy and feel nothing but resentment and hurt. </p><p>“Do you want to come in? Mom would like to see you,” Nate says as they arrive. Outside, his house manages to stand out even in the middle of a bunch of impressive mansions. </p><p>“Don't you fucking bring Gemma into this, man,” Frank answers. ”I only did this for her, but it's all I'm willing to do.”</p><p>“I understand—” </p><p>“No, you don't understand shit,” Frank interrupts him. “Fuck, I'm not talking about this. Get the fuck out of the car.” </p><p>“Frank—” </p><p>“Nate, I'm serious. I can't do this. Get out,” Frank hates the way his voice suddenly loses all the heat and turns into a small, pathetic whisper. “Please.” </p><p>“You still<em> did </em>it. You had the chance to say no, but you didn’t. That must mean something,” Nate, for the first since their encounter, loses his unmoved demeanor. The pleading tone of his voice mirrors his own. “That could— that could mean <em>something</em>.”</p><p>“Maybe it means I hate myself more than I hate you, Nate,” Frank smiles bitterly. Words usually fail him, but not now.</p><p>Nate hesitates a little before getting out of the car without a word. Frank sighs and his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. He should feel relieved that it's over and that he didn't utterly embarrassed himself in front of Nate, but he feels defeated.</p><p>Their relationship had no future, he always knew that. Even in the moments where he felt the most in love, with a million feelings running uncontrollable and wild inside of him, he kept no illusions about it.</p><p>Not once Frank thought their relationship would go beyond what they briefly had. As it started, Frank already knew that, sooner or later, it would end and he was mostly okay with it. A boyfriend with no prospects nor connections didn’t have a place in the life Nate’s father had painstakingly architectured for him. He now wonders if a boyfriend is part of those big plans at all. Perhaps a co-worker or a potential business partner with big ambition and a bigger trust fund could make the cut. Frank doesn't care, anyway.</p><p>James never liked Frank. This animosity he had for him was not a problem during their first years of friendship because he was rarely home, constantly traveling from one country to another, closing deals and making a shit-on of money, Frank guesses; doing whatever the owner of a big technology company does. Cheating on Gemma, most definitely. </p><p>On the rare occasion he did come home and had the displeasure to run into Frank, his attitude showed exactly how he felt. </p><p>At first, Frank felt extremely affronted about it because they had barely exchanged any words and James probably didn’t even remember his name. It was impossible to make a good impression when the other person refused to engage with you, muttering a disgruntled ‘hello’ and leaving the premises as if they were allergic to your presence. Still, he wasn't usually at home, so for a long time, Frank and Nate were able to spend a lot of unrestricted time together. As they grew older, the expectations James had deposited in his son’s future became more taxing.</p><p>Frank has to keep working. He despises the way anything related to Nate makes him immediately think about the past, he has no spare time for memories. When he was younger, he spent most of his time stuck in their time together, unable to move on and experience what was in front of him. Frank doesn't want to go back to that.</p><p>There’s nothing more he wants than to return to his apartment and bury himself under a ton of blankets, but his boss would kill him if he called a day off with so little notice. Besides, what would he say? How would he explain the situation he’s in? ‘Hi, Charlie. My ex-best- friend-turned-boyfriend appeared out of the blue after spending years ignoring my existence and I’m completely floored. Tell Jimmy to cover for me.’</p><p>It’s so goddamn ridiculous that the truth would sound less believable than if he were to say a lie. Once again, he resents Nate for putting him through something straight out of a fucking telenovela.</p><p>He sucks it up while driving talkative old ladies and antipathic teenagers, executives in a rush and housewives with too many grocery bags. His last passenger, Mary, is a regular and one of his favorites. She works at a bar in a part of the city where buses don’t arrive, not too far from where his family used to live when he was a child. </p><p>Frank doesn’t know if it’s the relief of seeing a familiar face after an exhausting day or the certainty that he’s going to be able to go home after he drives her, but he can’t hold it anymore. All of a sudden, his eyes are filled with tears and he’s having trouble breathing. Mary is looking at him bewildered from the backseat.</p><p>None of them say anything in the entirety of the ride. As they arrive and the girl leaves the car, the neon lights of the bar show Frank that, apart from the cash, she handed him a packet of paper tissue.    </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly destructive, he told himself it was no wonder things ended as they did.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Frank swam in a pool, he didn't really swim. He almost drowned. </p><p>He didn't recall much except that it was a hot day, one of those he still hated as an adult because they drained him of energy. He remembered unimportant details that one tends to forget, like the annoying sensation of his hair getting stuck to the base of his neck and the way sweat dampened the back of his shirt.</p><p>It was the start of summer, and as they were fresh out of spring and its nice breeze and soft sunlight, the heat appeared to be even more intense. </p><p>He had spent a good amount of time eyeing the pool, the seemingly infinite blue of it, counting down the hours to reach the days where Gemma would allow them to swim. The time had finally arrived and he didn't care his parents would complain about the water bill rising, as it happened every summer. It was worth it.</p><p>Nate warned him about the danger and asked if he wanted a floatable, which Frank considered an affront to the experience of swimming and his own abilities. He was ashamed to admit he didn't know how to do it.</p><p>Frank didn’t have an ounce of sense in him, so he threw himself into the water as soon as Gemma entered the house to bring them some snacks. Now, he couldn't say what the reasoning behind this action was since his only previous experience had been watching professional swimmers on the sports channel, which in retrospect, was no way enough to understand the mechanics of swimming.</p><p>He<em> did </em>remember, however, the rush of adrenaline that ran through his body before getting in contact with the water and immediately sinking into the artificial blue. And then just disconnected snippets came to mind: the way his throat constricted as he couldn't help swallowing the water, the chlorine taste of it burning his insides and the pressure of Nate’s arms around his body, bringing him back to the surface with great effort. </p><p>Years later, he still insisted he never felt afraid, that fear came after, with Nate's frightened eyes on him, his voice almost a sob. Nate had a hard time showing his emotions, especially the negative ones, so it definitely scared Frank.</p><p>Years later, Nate would confess that his father taught him to swim by letting him alone in the water. The way he recounted the episode was seemingly nonchalant, but something in the quality of his voice let on that it was a secret that perhaps not even his mother knew. He mentioned that his dad had told him that that was the only way to become a man, to fight for his own life. At the moment, Frank thought that growing up in the system had probably given Nate much more survival skills than his dad had ever needed in his privileged life.</p><p>Although Nate wasn’t happy about it, they never told Gemma. Frank begged him not to, too worried about the possibility of something like this spoiling his chance of truly enjoying the summer. And he<em> did, </em>while staying close to the edges of the pool, never straying too far from Nate, always within reach.    </p><p>He often thought about this as he drove around the city. How his childhood was inextricably linked to danger no matter how much his parents used to warn him, how Nate meant both fear and saving for a while. The sense that, to the adult world surrounding them, they were just two dumb twelve years old starting a friendship, but in reality, what they shared was a bit more complicated than that. </p><p>Frank was the dumb one, though, adults weren’t exactly wrong about that. Nate always possessed a certain cautiousness that he masterfully hid under his easy smile and warm eyes, a sort of barrier. ‘This is all I’m willing to show you’, it appeared to warrant. </p><p>No matter how hard he tried, Frank couldn’t bring himself to be like that. Since the beginning, he had already given himself completely, first as a friend and then as a boyfriend. For a while, he thought he was the only one who could go beyond Nate’s walls and make a home there, in the often dark place he didn’t dare to show anyone. </p><p>So, yeah, Frank was naive from the start and<em> then </em>he fell in love. Not a good combination. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly destructive, he told himself it was no wonder things ended as they did.</p><p>He got his job as a taxi driver at twenty-four. His first shift came accompanied by the gut feeling that this time it would last, that his years of wandering and feeling lost, without a clear purpose, had come to an end. It was funny, in a sense, finally feeling settled by getting a job that required constant transportation.</p><p>The more he came and went, the less uncertain he felt. Remembering every street, knowing every hidden little place in the city made him feel ready. Not a single direction by his passengers took him by surprise or filled him with doubts, he was prepared. </p><p>The day Frank started driving the taxi, a ratty old car that had seen better days and he spent a considerable amount of his firsts paychecks to improve, was also the day he decided to stop suffering for Nate. Up until that moment, he had gotten used to it.</p><p>His life had come to a stop and thinking about Nate was a way to fill the emptiness. Frank never entertained in what-ifs and ideal scenarios, though, because he knew Nate and he was completely sure he wouldn’t come back. Not to him, at least.  </p><p>At the impossibility of a future, Frank guarded himself in what had been. It was a defense mechanism, he supposed, except it usually destroyed him even further. He always ended up evaluating the words they’d exchanged, the things Nate had done for him, the secrets they’d kept, all in an attempt to find a crack, to discover at which point things had gone wrong. Did Nate mean it the first time he told him he loved him? Were his smiles genuine? Was the glint in his eyes really there? </p><p>Going back always did more damage than good, but it was easier than facing the shambles that remained after Nate’s departure. How alone and isolated he felt because for so long his sole focus had been on him, how unclear was the path now that he wasn’t there anymore. </p><p>The day he could fix his schedule and cleared out his Wednesdays was also the day he started taking swimming lessons. For a while, the pool felt tainted by Nate's memory. Amazing how he could ruin a place he'd never set a foot in. </p><p>Frank persevered. He had already decided he would wash away the pain, leave it at the bottom of the pool, where it would eventually lose its shape and become barely recognizable. </p><p>Hooking up with the trainer certainly helped, coming first place in a stupid race organized by the club at the end of the year did too. </p><p>Different ways of saying 'I don't need you anymore, water has brought me other things.' </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Focus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And if he needs to spend the entire morning psyching himself to go see them, it’s simply because he had already planned to spend the day in bed. It isn’t avoidance, it’s weariness.  </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was sad, then I wrote this and got sadder.<br/>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Sunday, Frank wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing with a string of text messages. He’s startled by the sudden noise, a generic ringtone he’s been meaning to change since he bought it, but keeps forgetting to do. </p><p>During workdays, he never loses sight of his phone. He can’t since he has garnered a few regulars over the years who prefer to contact him personally, avoiding the hassle of going through Charlie first. Whenever it rings, he thinks it’s one of them, even on the weekends. The truth is not many people wish to get to him aside from requiring his services. </p><p>Still, Frank has come to hate on his phone as of lately, directing wary glances in its direction whenever it does ring. If Gemma has his number, that means Nate could have access to it, if he wanted. He would like to think she has his best interest in mind yet, after all, she’s Nate’s mother. </p><p>Frank isn’t waiting for him to call, of course, he doesn’t expect anything else than what he’s been granted. A brief encounter, a confirmation that the person who left him years before isn’t coming back. And that’s enough for him, in all honesty, probably the closest thing to closure he’ll ever get. </p><p>He’s been going over their conversation, unable to stop himself, replaying the exchange in his head again and again. In one of those revisions, a sort of inventory of the damage taken, Frank realizes he doesn’t remember Nate apologizing in any moment: not for leaving or lying about it for God knows how long, not for avoiding him during years or coming back suddenly and demanding to see him without a single explanation. </p><p>Although it’s foolish to cling to the past, Frank keeps telling himself the old Nate would never do that. For a moment, he entertains the idea that the departure has left a mark on Nate too, that he lost some pieces of himself over those years of separation as well. Perhaps the Nate he knew was gone as soon as the plane transporting him to Norway took off, maybe even before that, which was the only reason he managed to leave as he did.  </p><p>Frank tries to chase away those thoughts. The harm has already been done, it has settled inside his brain and rotted there. No wishful thinking can erase it or change the course of their story.  </p><p>Seeing Nate again hits him harder than he even thought. He wasn’t wrong, all those years, not knowing how would he react if they ever met again because nothing could have properly prepared him for it. </p><p>He keeps discovering little things that he didn't notice at first, too busy trying to conceal all the conflicting emotions he felt seeing him again, like the way Nate kept rubbing his fingers. For the longest time, Frank thought he did it because they hurt after practice, before realizing it was a sign that he was nervous. </p><p>The few days after the encounter, he’s a mess. A zombie driving around the city without being aware of his surroundings. It takes a while to reign in the weird mood that overtakes him, to get a hold of those feelings that took him so long to put under control.</p><p>By the end of the week, especially after registering Nate wasn’t capable of even the bare minimum, saying sorry after he fucked everything, he’s fully recovered. Or at least, that’s what thinks until he sees the texts his sister sends him. </p><p><em>mom keeps asking if you fixed your window. </em>Sarah writes.<em> which in mom’s language means to come home and let her feed you!!!!!</em> <em>please, prodigal son, show up ASAP!!! </em></p><p><em> COME HOME!!!! </em>She insists shortly after. </p><p><em> Since when did you become fluent in mom’s codes? </em> He answers. <em> I’ll go this afternoon.  </em></p><p><em> i had to manage. </em> She responds. <em> none of you make it exactly easy!!!  </em></p><p>Frank isn’t avoiding his family. He calls home every week and goes to see them whenever he can, dedicating them as much time as an adult man with a job and plenty of responsibilities does. It’s only normal that he isn’t available every single day and, yes, sometimes he chooses to stay at his apartment when he’s free, but that’s because he’s goddamn tired after his shifts. </p><p>He tells himself it doesn’t have anything to do with his mother’s attitude, the way she doesn’t seem to know how to treat him anymore, carefully tiptoeing around what to say and how to act around him. The silence between them, that used to be the trademark of their relationship, had lost its ease somewhere along the way and what remains is a cautiousness that puts him on edge. </p><p>It isn’t related to his dad's absence, either, how empty the house feels without him there. Sarah talks a lot, she takes after him in that sense, always has a snarky remark or a joke ready to lighten the spirits, but not even her is capable of filling the quiet atmosphere and weighing down its heaviness. </p><p>Sarah claims that she’s tired of the two most important people in her life being so emotionally unavailable. She complains that he doesn’t try hard enough because she’s under the impression he’s too busy moping to realize how much they need him. He finds her complaints a bit unfair because he tries<em> really </em>hard.</p><p>And if he needs to spend the entire morning psyching himself to go see them, it’s simply because he had already planned to spend the day in bed. It isn’t avoidance, it’s weariness.   </p><p>Frank genuinely enjoys his job, but sometimes it takes its toll on him. Too much traffic, an unbelievable amount of terrible drivers roaming around the city, too many hours spent in that mechanical carcass he practically lives in. Being a driver isn’t only about taking people from one place to another, as some might think, he always needs to be alert. The possibility for something to go wrong is ever-present and danger lurks around at all times, awaiting the distracted. </p><p>Frank can’t allow himself to lose focus, his job demands him to count with all his senses. Thinking about Nate does the opposite, clouds his mind and confuses him. It’s all good now, though. If there’s one thing Frank has learned in his life, that’s discipline and self-restraint. His therapist would probably choose other words to describe it, such as punishment and self-censorship. He doesn’t agree and that’s why these days he spends the forty-five minutes of the session’s duration running in the park. It’s easier and cheaper. </p><p>He takes the bus to go to his mother’s house. He likes being behind the wheel, but there’s nothing wrong with being driven. The ride is long enough to give time to try and calm himself. Seeing his mom makes him anxious and there’s a little voice in his head that tells him that’s not okay and that if he wasn’t so deep in denial, he would see it. </p><p>He closes his eyes and dozes off for a bit. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A map</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>From the start, their friendship had felt like a temporary thing, as if it had an expiration date. A single action from Nate had cemented it, made it unbreakable in Frank's eyes.  </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! <br/>Sorry for disappearing! I thought I would be able to keep up with the busiest period of this uni semester and my writing, but I was SO wrong!<br/>I felt kinda bad today and listened to "Empire line" by The National which prompted me to write this. <br/>Thanks for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last night he spent at Nate’s was very different from the first time they had a sleepover. </p><p>At twelve, Frank had been quite intimidated by the size of the house. In all honesty, he had been far more impressed by the huge, brand new TV in the living room than by Nate himself. </p><p>He also felt a little inadequate, not too sure about what to say or do in such a foreign environment. Gemma had done everything in her power to make him feel comfortable, trying so hard that it was noticeable, so Nate apologized and explained to him he didn’t have many friends. </p><p>While she hummed a happy tune in the kitchen, he said calmly: “This is tremendously important to her”. Frank wondered if it was important to him as well, whether it was tremendous, but he just nodded as he grabbed another slice of pizza. </p><p>At the time, it hadn’t felt important to him. Or it had but in a sort of once-in-a-lifetime way. He was sure the novelty would eventually wear off and, with patience, he waited for a moment that didn’t come. These first years of friendship were a constant of expecting the unexpected. Frank didn’t think Nate would stick around for long, yet he kept looking for him at the library and inviting him over to his home.</p><p>From the age of twelve to fourteen, Nate never took his shirt off in front of Frank, not even to swim. Every time they had to change, he went somewhere else, scurried silently to someplace where he couldn’t be seen. </p><p>At first, when they were younger, Frank hadn’t given it too much consideration and didn’t feel it was his place to question it. A boy in his class arrived at school with a Spiderman mask on every Tuesday, an old lady in his neighborhood only wore green clothes. Some people were like that, they needed their own rituals. </p><p>As they got older, he thought maybe it was normal in the way that some straight guys aren't normal at all, always worrying about potential threats to their sacred masculinity. Then, he worried because what if Nate knew about him and thought he was gross? There was no indication he did, as there wasn’t anything to lead him to think he would turn against Frank because of it, but he still stressed himself. </p><p>The truth was that Nate never said anything about it until the feelings between them became too obvious to ignore and, even then, words weren’t exactly necessary. </p><p>Frank was able to pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved Nate and, if he tried hard enough, could probably trace every little moment that put said love inside his chest, made it grow and expand until his whole body ached for Nate. </p><p>He didn’t know how it happened for Nate, never asked. It felt too personal, out of reach. There were things Frank didn’t need him to put into words because he just knew, but others were kept in a hidden place, where Frank had the certainty Nate didn't even allow himself to see. </p><p>Had it been like puzzle pieces slowly being put together? Had it felt like a light switch being suddenly pressed or like discovering something unexpected in the corner of an eye?  </p><p>Frank pondered if the feelings had made sense to Nate or if they had surprised him. He didn’t like surprises, and perhaps that had been the problem, being unprepared for what Frank meant to him.    </p><p>One day, a lazy afternoon under the sun, Nate took his shirt off. There wasn’t anything between them yet. Frank was young enough to think he had a type and that Nate didn’t fit in it. So, at the moment, the gesture was nothing more than a way of showing, rather than saying, that Nate trusted him. </p><p>Frank didn’t take it lightly. He decided to cherish the bond they shared and to show Nate he was deserving of his trust. </p><p>From the start, their friendship had felt like a temporary thing, as if it had an expiration date. A single action from Nate had cemented it, made it unbreakable in Frank's eyes.  </p><p>That was the very nature of their relationship: Nate giving, reaching out and Frank accepting it, cautiously at first and wholeheartedly short after. He had been the first to approach him, to lend him books, invite him to be part of his life. </p><p>At eighteen, things had changed quite a bit. Frank knew he could reach out, too. And he <em>did</em>. Lacing his fingers with Nate’s without reservations, pressing his lips on his soft hair, kissing the small mole on his shoulder blade. It still felt too good to be true, but it mostly felt<em> true</em>. </p><p>Maybe his romantic gestures had the opposite effect, and every touch of his weakened Nate's feelings for him. </p><p>Years later, Frank would try to convince himself he had fucked the balance of things between them when he kissed Nate on the night of his concert. When it happened, it felt like the best decision Frank had ever made, so this was a consideration that only occurred to him when he spent his days alone because Nate wasn’t around anymore. Seeing that as the start of the end, the moment when inadvertently everything became tainted, was somehow easier than accepting Nate had actively made the choice to leave without telling him.</p><p>He had a lot of hypotheses about it. Some contradicted others and some could be simultaneously true. Nate's silence had left a lot of room for interpretation. </p><p>Even in the worst moments, when Frank felt something awful, dangerously akin to hate, he still remembered the fine line of Nate's neck. The contrast between the rich golden tone his skin acquired every summer and the little pale scars Frank could trace from here to there as if someone had grabbed a painting brush and scattered silver paint all over him.</p><p>He didn't need any confirmation to know his comparison couldn't be further from reality, that whoever made those didn't exactly have creation in mind when they inflicted them.</p><p>A map, a constellation. A story he would try to reconstruct on his own because Nate refused to say it.</p><p>Frank recalled thinking “mine” and enjoying the sound of it inside his head, genuinely believing it, feeling it real. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't erase the warm feeling that memory brought him.</p><p>The last time he slept besides Nate, he didn't know it would be. </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A little ritual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He won't say anything about Nate. He will pray that, maybe, this time he will be a good enough performer so that his mother doesn't realize there's something wrong as soon as he crosses the door.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me, every time I sit down to write: time to make a mess of verb tenses!<br/>I was so happy about finally seeing Frank acting more like a human being in this chapter, but then I couldn't write it at all. Sadly, my English gets worse as time progresses. Sorry and thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few blocks separate the bus stop from his parents’ house. It’s a path he hasn’t walked too much lately but remembers well enough, every crack in the sidewalk that hasn’t been fixed in years and each house he needs to avoid because some angry dog guards it. </p><p>Nothing really changes in the neighborhood and Frank likes that about it, how predictable everything is. He knows that by the time he arrives at his destination, old David will be feeding the birds in his front yard and that by the time he leaves, he will be watering it. If Frank encourages him, he will stop him to talk about everything and nothing until his grandson —smart, successful, single— will be inevitably mentioned. Frank, as always, will tell him that if he really is all those things, then there’s no way he'll be interested in someone like him.  </p><p>There’s nothing unexpected waiting for him at home either. The situation has replayed enough times for him to know exactly how it will develop. His mother will treat him the same and his sister will try to ease things by cracking jokes they both will ignore. </p><p>Another possible outcome is him misstepping, saying something she doesn’t like. Something that will prompt a display of disgust in her face and make her shut herself in her room —which remains unchanged even if it’s been a while since his father’s passing— until Frank leaves. That happens sometimes. </p><p>They don’t raise their voices, they don’t argue. She glares at him with the coldest look she can muster and flees, which somehow hurts more than any insult or scream ever could. </p><p>On the way, he thinks about safe, innocuous topics to talk about. The city’s mad traffic, the hot weather, their jobs, Sarah’s school. They're some sort of inventory, their conversations. A studied list made of points to cross out, get over with.  </p><p>Frank won’t mention that his landlord has told him the rent will go up soon or that his neck has been killing him lately, won’t say anything about how he’s considering asking Mary on a date.</p><p>He won't say anything about Nate. He will pray that, maybe, this time he will be a good enough performer so that his mother doesn't realize there's something wrong as soon as he crosses the door.</p><p>When he does, she doesn’t seem to notice and asks instead, "Did you fix your window?" </p><p>His lack of response puts a hard look on her face as she shakes her head in disapproval. The thing is, in appearance, she might be questioning his home maintenance skills, but actually, there’s more to her inquiry. </p><p><em> Are you looking for a nicer place? Have you met someone? Why don't you look for a better job? How about going back to school? </em> Frank's inability to compromise with the smallest things around his house serves as proof to her that he's never going to comply with those either and that he's going to be stuck forever.</p><p>In her silence and her long-suffering looks, there's an implicit message.<em> I wanted something better for you. </em>Frank is tired of the distance between his actual life and the idealized version that is the cumulus of his parent's dreams for him, for his future. It’s a dangerous thing, that abstract wish; it makes him miserable to meet his mother’s eyes and know that she thinks he’s not doing enough. </p><p>Frank took a bad situation and made the best out of it, and he’s satisfied with that. Doesn’t need anyone or anything else.</p><p>Sometimes the love they share gets smothered by the resentment his mother will always feel towards him for settling for so little, and he'll feel the same towards her for always expecting more. She'll also blame Nate, for being the motive he gave up, which makes Frank mad because that's probably the only thing he couldn't accuse him of.</p><p>They're prideful people, not willing to compromise, even under the fragile guise of understanding.</p><p>“If only you were half as forgiving with us as you are with that lady,” his dad used to recriminate him whenever he agreed to drive Gemma. Frank wonders what he would think about the latest development in the telenovela that is his life, Nate coming back and Frank choosing to meet him. He shouldn't have, that’s beyond clear now.</p><p>Everything boils down to a decision and he always makes the wrong one when it comes to Nate, then paints it as the impossibility of making a choice; of saying no and turning around for once and all. He would hate to admit it, to acknowledge that he has been waiting while telling himself he wasn't, but his mother doesn't need any confirmation. It's as if he was made of glass and she could see through every crack left after he tried to put himself together.</p><p>“Why don’t you just lie and say yes?” Sarah sighs as they watch their mother retrieve to her room. Frank shrugs and she mimics the movement, mocking him. </p><p>“Are you really going to let Hope in? Won’t she get angry?”</p><p>“She doesn’t even care anymore,” Sarah says as she opens the back door and their beast of a dog comes in. “Besides, a perk of having you as my older brother is that no matter what I do, she’ll never get as mad at me as she does with you.”</p><p>“Happy to be of help, I guess,” he says. “It may be a younger child privilege thing, though.”</p><p>“Maybe,” she mutters and then smiles, leaning closer as if to confess a secret. “I think the thing with Hope was just a little game between them, you know, like dad finding ways to sneak her in and mom pretending to get mad for it.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Frank considers it.</p><p>“Ugh, she always liked you more,” his sister complains while Hope throws herself on top of his lap, not quite understanding how difficult the task is, due to her size. She ventures, “Could it be because she’s a ball of hair and you’re a ball of sadness?”</p><p>“Wow, real smooth,” he deadpans. </p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t ask to be born with the something-wrong-with-Frank superpower.” </p><p>“It is too obvious? Do you think mom noticed?”</p><p>“I think mom sees it as a part of you by now,” she explains and theatrically announces, “Francis Rivas. Son, sixty, sad.” </p><p>“Don’t call me Francis,” he chastises, petting Hope’s soft fur under his hands. “And I don’t act like a sixty-year-old man.”</p><p>“You absolutely do!” Sarah exclaims. She then attempts to catch the dog’s attention and gets utterly ignored. Good.  “Anyway, what’s going on?”</p><p>Frank realizes he hasn’t told anyone about Nate and that he doesn’t really know how to. Which words should he choose to properly explain what’s going on? Does he even know at this point? </p><p>The pain he felt upon seeing him, tugging at his chest urgently like an open sound. The memories that suddenly rushed back to fill his days and nights, making it impossible to find a minute of rest. How is he supposed to process that, to say it out loud? How is he supposed to face this ghost, this shadow of a life he once cherished and has since thought long gone?</p><p>Frank pushes back nausea, tries to swallow the stone that's made it's home inside his throat since the encounter. And then, he speaks. Laboriously at first, choosing one word after another with great care; and with abandon after, focusing only in the sense of relief talking brings him. </p><p>“Rich people <em>really</em> are fucking awful,” Sarah concludes sagely. She puts her hand in his and squeezes, her eyes looking bright. “Dad would be so mad, I can almost hear him.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you remembered,” he says, surprised.</p><p>“I mean, I don’t remember <em>him</em>. And I didn’t even understand what dating or breaking up was at the time, but dad kind of ranted about the whole thing until the day he died. Difficult not to catch up on the bitterness," she says. "He couldn’t believe someone could do that to you.” </p><p>Frank can't help but get a little choked up. He groans as he feels a headache coming, one that's surely going to accompany him for the rest of the day. That's all he has going on for him lately, his migraines and an impending feeling of emptiness.</p><p>“He cared a lot about you, you know. And we do, too,” Sarah says, impossibly soft. “Do you— Do you care about us? Because sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”</p><p>And there it is. A little ritual they share, every time they see each other. </p><p>After the laughs and the jokes comes a moment where Sarah gets vulnerable, almost as if she was breakable. He hates that she has to ask, but he needs it too, this mutual reassurance that they matter.</p><p>“The answer to that question requires me to be corny, can your sixteen-year-old self handle it?”</p><p>“I love me some corny shit now and then," her voice sounds weird when she cries. “Don’t tell my friends.” </p><p>“I would never,” Frank smiles as he puts a hand over his heart solemnly. “But you better stop swearing.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Mannequins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It felt nice, to be in a room full of people and knowing no one else got Nate's friendship. Frank wondered why Nate hadn't insist to get them invited like he did with him, told himself it was mean to feel more special than a bunch of boys he didn't know.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to make this soft and tender!!!! I failed!!!<br/>Picture a tall, gangly boy and a short boy who hardly reaches his shoulder trying to go unnoticed while they sneak out with four champagne glasses each.<br/>Thanks for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day Frank learned to dance was also the day before Nate’s birthday party. Except he didn't really learn, unless moving one's feet —first one, then the other— almost robotically could be considered dancing.  </p><p>He had said, as if it was nothing, that his mother’s friends would absolutely try and make him dance with them, which sent Frank into a panic state. And Nate just laughed, failing to realize the potential catastrophe of it all.</p><p>Frank was dead set on making a good impression because it had taken a <em> whole </em>year to convince Nate’s dad to allow him to go to the party, and he wanted to show him he was worthy of his son’s esteem. </p><p>It was serious business. A fourteen-year-old with two left feet wouldn’t cut it. </p><p>“I don’t think it’s that important,” Nate said and in response to Frank’s scowl added, “I <em> genuinely </em> don’t, but I could give you a quick lesson if you wanted.”</p><p>And that was how they ended up moving Nate's bed and desk against the wall to ensure more space where they could practice freely without the worry of knocking something or hurting themselves. </p><p>"The first basic is not stepping on your partners' feet. There's <em> nothing </em> worse than that."</p><p>That night Frank went to sleep feeling highly unprepared despite Nate's best intentions. Not ready for what the next day would bring. His instructions weren't enough to fight off his inability of following rhythm. Granted, all he counted with at the moment was their awkward swaying to Nate's hum of some vaguely familiar song, which was vastly different from the party where a live band would play.</p><p>"You think too much," Nate had said as he guided him. It wasn't a chide; he smiled like he was guilty of the same, too. Frank<em> knew </em>he was.</p><p>In the end, not many people noticed his presence, and even those who did quickly glanced another way and kept talking to the other guests. He thought he would stick out like a sore thumb but nobody appeared to care. No one spoke to him. Frank was like a ghost that only Nate could see. Actually, not only Nate, since his dad kept glaring at him from where he was surrounded by old men in suits.</p><p>He looked down at his suit, the sleeves threatening to cover his hands if he wasn't careful to keep them in check. </p><p>Nate gave him a dimpled smile. "Don't overthink it. You look perfectly fine."</p><p>He immediately noticed there were only adults there. Frank's birthday parties weren't as fancy as this, there was no protocol and etiquette to follow nor expensive light decorations, but at least there were his friends. And<em> burgers</em>. This one, albeit luxurious, was a little depressing. No place for a fourteen-year-old boy to celebrate.</p><p>"My dad doesn't like my friends from school..." Nate trailed off, eyes trained on the crowd. Everyone seemed to<em> notice </em>him, which was nice, but their attention was fleeting. He didn't seem bothered by it. "It doesn't matter, you're here."</p><p>It felt nice, to be in a room full of people and knowing no one else got Nate's friendship. Frank wondered why Nate hadn't insisted on getting them invited like he did with him, told himself it was mean to feel more special than a bunch of boys he didn't know.</p><p>Frank couldn't avoid getting invited to dance. Dinah, Gemma's best friend, as she usually liked to emphasize, laughed at his panicked face and assured him it would be fun. It wasn’t, although Nate<em> did </em>seem amused while looking at them from the safety of a hidden corner. </p><p>Frank managed to step on her feet at every turn, not being able to fully control his own. By the time the song ended, and for different reasons, they were both relieved. He apologized and scurried in Nate's direction with Dinah's loud laugh following him like a taunt. Nate patted his back and grinned as if he just hadn't been the main bystander of his downfall; Frank didn't dare to look in his father's direction.</p><p>A while after, Nate told him he was bored. He planned to steal a few drinks and sneak to the balcony, and both attempted to be secretive even though nobody was paying attention to them. Frank was equally thrilled and terrified.</p><p>He marveled at the pristine glasses, the way the champagne glistened inside them. Excited in anticipation, he tasted it and it was terrible but he still drank it. They could get in trouble for this, better to make it worth it.</p><p>He clutched one glass in his hand while hoping it would magically turn it into coke. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could will it into existence.   </p><p>“You want some?” he asked, directing it in his direction. Nate took it, fingers gently holding its stem, before giving it back with a disgusted face.</p><p>“I don’t like the taste of it,” Nate answered, looking around. “And I don’t like how it makes me feel.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I’ve drunk before. And I’ve smoked cigarettes,” he confessed, gingerly. </p><p>A lot of guys in his neighborhood boasted about being drunkards and, in some cases, it was evident they were lying while in others it was obvious they weren't. Neither of them talked about it like Nate, as if there was weight in his words and it pained him to pour them out. </p><p>Years later, a little after getting together and not too far before leaving, Nate told him that when he was younger he used to wish to lose his memory, to forget everything that had happened before his adoption. Frank never dared to ask. He’d said "my life started here" and, though he didn't say it out loud, something in his eyes made Frank think that<em> with you </em>could have been the final part of that statement. </p><p>But that night Frank didn't know all that yet.</p><p>“Nathaniel, you did <em> not</em>, you fucking liar!” Frank laughed and then apologized when Nate grimaced at the swear. “There’s no way your mom would ever let you do that. No fu— No way, man!”</p><p>He tried to examine Nate's face but he kept looking elsewhere. “I think someone is calling my name. Let’s go.”</p><p>And Frank didn't understand the hurry since they'd<em> just </em>scurried away, but still followed Nate inside and spent the rest of the night by his side, sitting while watching the other guests. At some point, they started to look like mannequins, too picture perfect and rigid. He felt like one, too.</p><p>He couldn't recognize it at the time, but Nate's refusal to meet his eyes meant he was upset.</p><p>It was a learning curve, with Nate. Especially since he refused to let himself be<em> seen</em>, growing more and more comfortable with poker faces and concealed feelings.</p><p>Years later, he came to consider himself capable of knowing everything Nate said without actually saying it, all that he communicated with his soft eyes and the way his lips curled and the set of his shoulders. Turned out he wasn't a very good reader.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Far</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Frank watches her run to the door and only then allows himself to press his head against the steering wheel. The impact is harder than he expected and the horn makes a brief but startling noise. His life is not a telenovela, it is a comedy sketch and he’s the butt of the joke. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I meant this to be chaotic and confusing because that's how Frank's state of mind gets whenever he loses the control he so hard tries to maintain, what with Nate's return looming over and him choosing to put himself in an unpredictable situation. I hope it's not TOO chaotic and confusing.<br/>As always, thanks for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mary’s face looks as if Frank has just told her he will raise his rates and she’ll have to pay twice what she is currently paying. He wonders if that’s what she thinks it’s at stake here, if she believes he would be able to screw her over like that just because she rejected him. Because that’s what’s going to happen, it seems inevitable with the way her mouth hangs open and her eyes are funnily huge like she can’t believe him.</p><p>Frank can’t quite believe himself either. He guesses he could have been more graceful about it, maybe less sudden and<em> definitely </em>less awkward. He can’t really blame her for expecting the worst since she doesn’t really know him, he hasn’t exactly given her the chance before, but it still hurts to realize he would give off that kind of vibe. He likes to think he’s the furthest away from being a jerk as possible.</p><p>That’s the thing though, they don’t know each other, but they<em> could</em>. And Frank is willing to take the first step, and it has<em> nothing </em>to do with Nate’s unexpected return. Nate is as inconsequential to this decision as the rain that rattles against the windshield is to both Mary and him, because they have to work all the same. </p><p>He’s cold and his jacket is damp, but he can’t take it off because he’s only wearing a t-shirt underneath. He feels himself shiver a little and doesn’t know whether the low temperature or his nerves are to blame. Mary isn’t in a much better situation than him, for the looks of it she didn’t grab an umbrella either. His proposal was probably as abrupt as the rain. </p><p>Nate must be in bed already or warming himself by the fireplace or snapchatting someone he met back in Norway even though he doesn’t seem the kind of person to use an app like that, he would find the filters ridiculous, so maybe he’s skyping them. Anyway, Nate isn’t important and Frank doesn’t care about him. </p><p>He realizes it’s been a while and none of them has said anything. He should do something about it, try to ease Mary a little and show her where he’s coming from, but he opens his mouth and nothing comes out. </p><p>Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. There’s a big chance he’ll have one less client after tonight. He’ll make sure to recommend her someone who isn’t a creep, as she surely has to deal with enough of them while bartending. </p><p>Suddenly, the car seems to shrink, too small and cramped for his own body. He’s trapped and everywhere he looks, he ends up accidentally stumbling with Mary’s bewildered gaze. Once again, he feels out of his depth in a space where he usually feels the most comfortable. Once again, it’s his<em> own </em>damn fault.</p><p>What was he thinking? Why did he believe this would be okay?</p><p>Frank<em> knew </em>it would’ve been better if he waited until they arrived at the bar because now they still got a few minutes of the ride and he’d made things unbearably awkward. Now, he keeps his eyes on the road and tries pretty damn hard to calm himself. Whenever he gets anxious, his thoughts scatter and clutter and overlap, as if with a life of their own, far from him. He needs them to<em> stop</em>. </p><p>For a moment, he thinks about Nate and how everything came easy to him, how effortless it seemed when he talked about what he felt and what he wanted. Then he reminds himself Nate dumped him without any warning and basically ghosted him for<em> years</em>; so fuck him. And then he reminds himself<em> again </em>that he shouldn’t be thinking about Nate at all because he has nothing to do with this.  </p><p>He’s tired of all those intense feelings threatening to overwhelm him at all times unless he keeps himself in check. He tries to keep his emotions in, everything tidy and in their rightful space where they don’t inconvenience him, but he often fails and he ends up feeling too much.</p><p>“I hope this doesn’t offend you,” Mary says carefully like she’s waiting for him to immediately explode. And maybe he will, because of the unique package of shame and annoyance he’s currently feeling towards none other than his own person. She knits her eyebrows, searching for the right thing to say. “You seem like a good guy, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”</p><p>Frank is mortified. He really should’ve waited to be under the tacky neon sign’s protection, so he could’ve quickly excuse himself and disappear. Since he didn’t, Mary waits for him to say something, but all he can do is give a weak nod.</p><p>“You know, this is the first time you’ve talked to me since you started driving me to work. And it’s been a <em> while</em>,” she emphasizes the last word. “Asking me out after what happened the other day it’s kinda suspicious, too.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Frank asks and immediately regrets it. He doesn’t need any more context as to what day she’s talking about and he definitely doesn’t need to discuss one of the most embarrassing moments of his stupid life. Not as bad as falling in love at sixteen with a guy who left him without a word but still. </p><p>Mary would be the kind of person to spare him if he were to tell her not to mention? Frank doesn’t know yet. Still, he could get to know her eventually, which is the whole point of all this. Frank knows it wouldn’t be the most convenient thing, since he works during the day and she does at night, but maybe they could make it work. </p><p>“Though I don’t know what you’re going through, I don’t think dating someone will help. I’ve been the one who cries in public in more relationships than I’m proud to admit. But I’ve also been the one who thought they could save the other person with the sheer power of my love,” she explains. “And listen, neither are a good position to put yourself into.”</p><p>This leaves Frank dumbfounded. He doesn’t say anything, he simply can’t. </p><p>“Maybe, we could talk? God knows I need that. And I don’t mean to assume, but it seems like you do, too,” she adds, before leaving the car, her jacket over her head to avoid getting rained on. “Or we could pretend this never happened and go back to the quiet rides, whatever keeps you driving me because no one else will do it for the same fare. Be careful!”</p><p>His stomach drops at the idea of having to see her tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and then the next day after that.</p><p>Frank watches her run to the door and only then allows himself to press his head against the steering wheel. The impact is harder than he expected and the horn makes a brief but startling noise. His life is not a telenovela, it is a comedy sketch and he’s the butt of the joke. </p><p>Defeated, he hopes Mary isn’t spying through the window and laughing at him. He wouldn’t blame her.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Young</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes it seemed he did it without even realizing it, as if it came naturally to Nate. The ease with which he reached out for him contrasted with how Frank’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest every time he did. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Teenage Frank idealizing the shit out of Nate makes my head hurt almost as much as trying to keep up with the overly complicated timeline I’ve established. The song that's playing on the radio is "Night shift" by Lucy Dacus in order to maximize the angst. <br/>Thanks for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were some good days and some not so much. Usually, Frank focused on the former and tried to get over himself during the latter, but working during Christmas was a nightmare.</p><p>Not only the traffic was absolutely insane, but people also became maniacs during those days. Instead of being filled with love and understanding, as they were supposed to, his passengers were suddenly transformed into hysteric, screaming monsters who complained about everything and, for some unknown reason, considered him to be the recipient of their complaints, the one to blame for<em> their </em>mistakes. Frank’s already beaten lifespan lost a couple more years during those days.</p><p>He was convinced the movie <em> Gremlins </em>was an exaggerated metaphor for what workers had to endure while dealing with others at that time of the year.</p><p>On top of it all, the feelings he constantly tried to shove aside gushed out, disgusting and inconvenient, at the sight of a stupid mistletoe. Frank couldn’t help it and had even reached the extreme of hating the color red. As soon as Christmas carol’s flooded every single corner around the city, he was inevitably reminded of the day Nate told his mom he wanted to spend Christmas at Frank’s house.</p><p>She cried for an entire day. Apparently, some people experienced the holidays as something far more complex than eating a ton of shit you usually don’t eat and the thrill of occasionally getting a gift that isn’t socks. Time after, he discovered the reason for her anguish was because Nate’s dad was on one of his renowned business trips and she would spend it alone.</p><p>Frank wondered why would she rather stay on her own in her huge house instead of tagging along, then wondered if his parents would’ve extended the invitation if they had known. There weren’t any hard feelings between them, but they weren’t friends either. It was as complicated as everything, except maybe Nate.    </p><p>He had brought thoughtful gifts for everyone, and Frank didn’t know if these were due to his mom being talented at gifting or proof that Nate had heard everything he’d been telling him. He also arrived with a dish whose name Frank couldn’t pronounce, probably a Norwegian recipe since she liked to honor her parents during special occasions, which looked weird but tasted amazing like everything Gemma ever made. Frank thought it looked like something straight out of those cooking shows his mother sometimes watched but never had the time or the ingredients to actually cook herself. </p><p>They were seventeen, at a stage where every glance lingered just a bit longer than normal and every gesture seemed to hold too much significance to simply write off as something friends did. Frank had memorized the way Nate’s hand felt on the fabric of his shirt whenever he rested it on his back, fingers brushing softly against his shoulder blade, the touch somehow firm while being barely there. </p><p>Sometimes it seemed he did it without even realizing it, as if it came naturally to Nate. The ease with which he reached out for him contrasted with how Frank’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest every time he did. </p><p>At that age, in what Frank then came to recognize as the height of his crush on Nate, that period of time when he<em> knew </em>there was a thing blossoming between them but couldn’t put a name on it yet, it felt as if nothing Nate did could ever be wrong. He was just<em> right</em>. The only nice thing in Frank’s life, he’d even come to think during some especially stupid moments.</p><p>Frank was brought back by the singer on the radio who pondered about the dangers of falling in love so young and he felt sick in the stomach. On the backseat, a guy bitched and moaned about not finding the shit his children had asked for. </p><p>Once again, he reminded himself eight years had passed since Nate left and that he had no right to feel bad about it. While all this time he’d told himself it would pass, he couldn’t help but think when that statement would finally be true. </p><p>Against his best judgment, he found himself thinking about nothing was easy for Frank during those years. He tripped on words, wrestled with them until they were nothing but nonsense. He remembered a thigh pressed against his own, the arm settled above his shoulders felt like a grounding weight. </p><p>“It’s gotten long,” a voice softly said in his ear, too close, so close that for a moment he wondered if it came from inside him, as its owner tugged a strand that escaped his messy ponytail. </p><p>“I look like Tarzan,” Frank answered, wishing his blush didn’t seem as nearly as furious as it felt. “Sarah makes jungle noises all the goddamn time. <em> Everywhere </em>.”</p><p>“She’s a menace, huh?” Nate said, amused. Lately, a weird smile tugged on his lips whenever they talk, like he knew something Frank didn’t and it made Frank nervous. “What do these jungle noises entail, anyway?”</p><p>“Sarita, who do I look like?” Frank looked back to the table where his mother was braiding Sarah’s hair again because that devil spawn had managed to turn it into a mess in mere seconds. The latest game she had invented entailed throwing a few of her toys in orderly succession with as much force as she could muster, while someone had to catch them at risk of being hurt since she was very strong despite her tiny frame. Nate was the only one who wouldn’t refuse to be her playmate, so that night he was sporting a big red spot on his cheek, courtesy of a Goku doll and his sister’s brute force. For some reason, the game involved a lot of jumping and dancing triumphantly whenever Nate couldn’t take a hold of the plushies, which had left her hair looking like a nest.</p><p>To his mother’s dismay, Sarah undid all her hard work as she moved out of her reach and began doing a monkey’s impression. By the time she was roaring like a tiger, she was nimbly picked up by his father and deposited in the chair where their mom was rubbing her forehead, probably begging God for extra patience, some reinforcement in that department.</p><p>“Sorry, Rosario,” Nate said apologetically, trying to contain the laugh. “That was impressive, Sarah!”</p><p>“You haven’t even seen the anaconda yet. She made her whole repertoire on the supermarket the other day,” he said solemnly. Then, signaling his cheek, he added: “Thank God mom didn’t let her use the rubber ball.”</p><p>“It is too bad?” Nate asked, bringing his fingers to touch the area as if he had forgotten about it until Frank pointed it out. Frank swatted them away.</p><p>“You’ll only make it worse,” he reprimanded him. “Take some ice from the fridge before we use it all for the drinks.”</p><p>Nate theatrically stretched over the couch. It wasn’t as comfortable now that he was like six feet tall and Frank was slowly but steadily catching up. He sighed and draped an arm over his eyes, “I can’t get up, Frankie.”</p><p>“Did Sarah’s shot affected your legs as well?” Frank asked, lightly pushing his thigh with his feet because he was<em> too </em>close. “Need me to call an ambulance, Nat?”</p><p>“I didn’t know you were so bossy, George,” Nate snickered and grabbed Frank’s ankle with one hand. As if it wasn’t enough, he then started ruffling his hair with the other.</p><p>“Ugh, stop,” Frank grumbled, grabbing him by his wrists and keeping him far, where he couldn’t touch him.</p><p>“I like it,” Nate whispered, intent look firmly fixed in Frank’s eyes. Nate immediately dropped his gaze, wondering what exactly did he mean by that.</p><p>“What?” Frank whispered back, not daring to move his eyes from the floor.</p><p>“The hairdo, of course,” Nate answered as he went to the fridge, before directing him a light smile.</p><p>While watching him leave, Frank met his mother’s eyes by accident. Hers were so expressive, she didn’t need to say anything to make Frank feel extremely mortified.  </p><p>Almost an eternity later, Frank still wondered if Nate did it on purpose because he realized the effect he had on him. Had it started as nothing more than a game, egging him on just to see his reactions until it evolved into whatever they briefly shared? Or had it been a game all along, and that was the reason it was so easy for Nate to leave, all he needed to do was disengage and escape?</p><p>Had his mother, in her own way, attempted to warn him?</p>
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